120 Themes Challenge
by Mii-Chan 24
Summary: 120 Themes about the Exorcists, Noahs, and everyone in between. Chapter 6 - Crossroads: "What's it gonna be, Tyki ? You could be a hero… If you agree to a tiny little condition." AU Noahs
1. Enemies

7. - Enemies

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**By Mii-Chan 24**

**Notes: AU**

**Disclaimer: Not mine, obviously.**

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There were times when Lavi Bookman truly questioned his choice in friends.

Example 1: Kanda Yu.

The always-friendly Japanese man was glaring daggers at him and at the flat screen TV in turn, obviously torn between gouging his guts out with a carving knife or watching the game. Evidently the game won, because the black-haired man flipped him off and returned to the TV.

Example 2: Allen Walker.

Now, normally, the quiet British boy was the better choice of the two, mostly because _he_ never tossed death threats around as casually as Yu did. Once in a while, however, the white-haired teen made Lavi's skin crawl in a way that Yu could only _wish _to imitate.

The youngest of the group, looking frazzled as he tugged on his white locks again, nearly had a seizure when the object of his concern sailed across the field. "_Damn it!_"

Example 3: Lenalee Lee.

Okay, so she wasn't as bad as the other two. She hit him sometimes when he was being an idiot (which, according to Yu, was always), and she had a killer right hook (which, contrary to her sweet looks and petite frame, _hurt like a bitch_), but she was still nicer than the guys.

But he digressed. He was psychoanalyzing his choice in friends, as he watched his two best guy friends, (and self-proclaimed mortal enemies) cling to each other as yet another irritated groan escaped their lips.

Lenalee chuckled softly, eyes shining with amusement. "Guys and their sports…"

"Hey, hey! I'm not watchin' this crap!" Lavi pointed out, tossing a piece of popcorn into his mouth out of sheer boredom. He liked sports, like any normal guy, but he was more of an _American_ football dude, not like the British pansies currently hissing at the TV. He noted with some satisfaction that in their excitement at a near-goal both teens slid off the couch.

Without losing their sight of the game, they scrambled up, perching on the extreme edge of the couch. Lavi snickered. "Fags…"

As one, Japanese and British turned to glare at him, Allen holding Yu's arm in a death grip. "Shut up, Lavi."

And as one they returned to the TV.

Lavi wilted. "What's so interesting' 'bout a soccer game, anyways?"

Kanda growled faintly, obviously deeming his question too stupid to answer.

Allen hissed at the TV as the ball rolled toward the green-clad goalie. "It's the World Cup, Lavi. That's what makes it interesting."

He watched, letting out a relieved sigh as the ball was deviated from the goal, then added as an afterthought: "It's _football_, not 'soccer'."

"Po-tay-toh, po-tah-to," Lavi rolled his eyes, popping open a can of beer. If his old Gramps caught him drinking, he'd get his ass kicked, but he could always blame Yu if worst came to worst.

Said Japanese-English resident pulled his arm away from the younger Brit after some time, clenching and unclenching his hand in order to restore the circulation to his arm. "Fuck, bean sprout," he grumbled, eyes still glued to the screen.

"Shut up, Kanda," the teen answered automatically, grabbing onto a couch pillow to replace Yu's arm, growling incoherently as the Americans got too close to the English goal.

Lavi rolled his eyes again, nudging Lenalee's leg. "You wanna go get somethin' to eat, Lena? I'll buy." Anything to get away from the testostorone-filled room.

Lenalee smiled, standing up. "That sounds great, actually."

"Get me something too!" Allen muttered, grinding out a curse at a lagging Defensive player. Yu grunted in agreement, tossing over his wallet.

Lavi grinned, then jumped when a loud wail reached their ears.

Allen was on his knees, scooting over to the TV as if that would change the outcome of the game.

The English goalie had in a way aided the American team in what turned out to be an unbelievably lucky goal, which tied the game. At least, that's what it seemed like to Lavi.

Kanda growled, letting out a stream of colorful curses that could have made flowers wither, while Allen continued his incessant wailing and whining.

Lavi winced, hurrying himself and Lenalee out the door. Best not be around when that shit hit the fan.

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**Yay. I'm back. Sorta**

**This is part of a 120 themes challenge that a friend gave me almost a year ago, sadly. I'm hoping this breaks me out of my slump.**

**So, yes. The FIFA World Cup is going on as of NOW, and I saw the U.S/U.K. game with as much enthusiasm as Kanda and Allen.**

**Allen is, of course, rooting for his country. And I can picture Kanda getting excited for the game after a few beers, maybe.**

**Review?**


	2. Marionette

**78. - Marionette**

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**By Mii-Chan**

**Notes: Dark!Fic sorta**

**Disclaimer: Do not own.**

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It's not that Lenalee had a particular aversion to clowns and marionettes. In fact, she very much liked them.

Oh, no. The only thing she had an aversion to was _that_ particular marionette.

It truly was a hideous mockery of the human form - its limbs were long and spindly, the screws at its elbows and knees the only thing keeping it from falling apart. Its white costume was stained yellow with age, and its white face was cracked and peeling. The large white ruff around its neck was falling apart, and the thin gossamer strings that allowed movement were tangled and stiff.

The _Pierrot_, as Lavi informed her later, had been found during a brief mission in Nice, France. Lavi and Allen had finished quickly, dispatching the outbreak of Level Threes that had been afflicting the area.

Despite Link's protests, Lavi had convinced Allen to stick around a little longer. Of course, he wanted to stay for the tourists that regularly flocked to the area to enjoy the mild weather. And, desperate to escape the gloomy confines of the Black Order, Allen agreed.

During one of their little expeditions around the gorgeous French town, Allen found himself attracted to the smaller, discreet shops nestled among their brighter counterparts. It was in one of these that he found the dusty marionette, its strings tangled haphazardly, the paint on its face dull and faded.

Allen immediately fell in love with it.

So, of course, the young Exorcist bought the broken doll, cradling to his chest all the way to the Order.

Once home, he spent an almost obsessive amount of time fussing over the puppet, untangling the strings, mending the tears in the delicate white fabric costume, and going as far as begging Froi Tiedoll to fix the chipped paint.

The end result was truly the scariest thing Lenalee had ever seen.

Lavi admitted to her that he was unnerved by the thing too, but jokingly told her that it couldn't hurt anyone.

Kanda displayed an intense dislike to the puppet immediately, and threatened to skewer it with Mugen the first chance he got. This, however, did not go over well with Allen. With a dangerous growl, he warned the irate samurai to stay away from his doll, and stomped off.

That had been earlier in the morning. Currently, it was around midnight, and the younger Lee was sitting straight up in her bed, cold sweat making her hair stick to her scalp. Her heart was thumping against her chest, and she kneaded the sheets pooled around her nervously.

She wasn't quite sure what had woken her up, but as she slowly focused on her darkened room, she began feeling something was off.

This she further confirmed when she honed in on the white lump sitting next to her door. Even with her sleep-muddled mind, she could tell what it was. The marionette reflected the scant moonlight seeping in through her window, and that allowed her to see the disturbing sneer on the white face.

She shivered, pouting as she curled back under the sheets. If this was Lavi's idea of a practical joke, it wasn't very funny.

She would have fallen asleep right away, but something about having that _thing_ in her room made her uncomfortable. After tossing and turning for a few minutes, she sighed and sat up, glancing wearily at the doll, trying to ignore the cold frown painted on its -

Wait. What?

Shivering as she recalled the clown's earlier look, she knelt down, picking up the wooden monster. The wood _clinked_ lightly as she inspected the puppet, trembling as a feeling of dread filled her gut.

She flipped the doll over, glaring at its painted face, and paled when she saw a black smirk on its mouth. Slowly, the wooden sections split open, revealing large, pointed teeth.

"_Hello…"_

She screamed.

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**Whoo… Demonic marionettes. :D**

**Read and REVIEW, por favor. It's very much appreciated.**


	3. Black

**6. - Black**

**By Mii-Chan 24**

**Notes: AU. Kanda, therefore language.**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

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There were many things Yu Kanda hated: his ex-foster father Froi Tiedoll, the color pink, his self-proclaimed best friend (also known as the stupid rabbit), Lady Gaga, the bean sprout, sweets, rap, psycho robots created by that one chick's brother, and people who thought he was a girl, to name a few things.

They were all equally high on the list, though as of late the idiot rabbit and the bean sprout were fighting with each other for the first place.

Currently, the red-haired brat had the lead, as he and the bean sprout were both suffering from his pranks.

"This is terrible," the bean sprout whined, tugging on his fluorescent orange hair. His creepy white gloves were stained orange, and he flailed around absently as if that would help the situation.

Kanda grunted in response, trying in vain to scrape off the White-Out from his black hair. The liquid paper, however, didn't seem to want to cooperate with the angry Japanese teen. With a frustrated huff, he let go of the sticky, hard strands, leaning back angrily.

"Fucking rabbit," he snarled, already plotting his demise. When he found that idiot, he would pay. Oh, he would _pay_.

The bean sprout wailed softly about his white hair, babbling on and on about someone killing him when he got home. He didn't particularly _care_, but he knew that if the bean sprout got angry, he could maybe possibly be of some use.

Now, Kanda wasn't known for his mental prowess, but every once in a while he had a tiny spark that evolved into a pretty decent plan.

"Oi. Bean sprout."

"What do _you _want?" Though, if the brat continued with his little bitch fit, Kanda would have to reconsider. He mulled his thoughts over slowly, trying to pick his words correctly.

"How would you like to get back at the rabbit?"

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Lavi chuckled to himself as he walked home, an orange highlighter tucked into his back pocket. He would be surprised if there was any ink left, but if there was, he was sure he could find some other use for it. Maybe he would finish the job with the bean sprout. Or maybe Two-Spot - he could certainly use a makeover.

He snickered at the thought, skipping along jauntily. The White-Out was a sad loss, but it had certainly been worth it. He would just have to make sure to pick some up along the way. Maybe he could pick up a pack of those colored Sharpies, too; he could make a whole fucking mural on Yu's hair.

Ecstatic at the opportunity, he hurried home, dumping his crap unceremoniously at the front door. With a quick shout at his grandfather, he hurried up the stairs to his room, careful not to topple the towers of books set up periodically around the hall.

He reached his room without much problems, though he did have a close call near the top of the stairs when his stupid cat Deak nearly tripped him. If he didn't know any better, he would have thought the orange cat was trying to kill him.

He shut his door quickly and breathed a sigh of relief, resting his forehead against the cool wood for a second. That second stretched into a few more, and he found himself dozing off against his door.

It was a few minutes later that he realized something was very _off_ in the room. It could be the soft creak of the bed springs, or the evil snicker that made a shiver run down his spine.

Slowly, like the movies, he turned, paling when he saw two very angry people on his bed. He, however, tried to play it off.

"Y-Yu! Allen! Y'know, this wasn't how I expected y'all to be in my room," he murmured casually, wincing faintly at the dark look in Kanda's eyes. "I figured Yu'd be a little more, uh… _underdressed._ You too, Allen."

Allen hissed, fire burning in his gray eyes. "Let me at him, Kanda. I'll tear him to bloody pieces…"

Yu merely smirked, leaning back like a mafia boss waiting for the right time to pull the trigger. The mere thought made a lump form in his throat, and he squirmed under the dark gaze. "S-so… What brings you fine gentlemen around this lovely afternoon?"

God… It sounded like he'd taken a few hits from a helium balloon.

Allen grumbled, his hair still a horribly bright orange. Huh. He didn't think the highlighter would hold. Yu didn't fare any better: the White-Out had dried, forming horrid clumps in the usually well-kept hair.

Kanda sat up slowly, smirking. "You should have realized what would happen if you messed with our hair, stupid rabbit."

Allen sneered when Lavi broke ranks and madly attacked the doorknob, his sweaty hands sliding off the polished brass. Seeing as how he would be able to escape through the door, he ducked under Yu and ran to the window.

With lightning-fast reflexes, Kanda reached over, dragging him back by the scruff. "Get the dye, brat."

"Right!" The bean sprout dug through his messenger bag happily, producing a small, white, hourglass-shaped bottle.

Lavi whimpered, squirming valiantly. "No! I don't wanna get raped! I'm too _pretty_!"

"Don't kid yourself," Yu mumbled, dragging him forcibly to the bathroom. "And no one would want to get within twenty feet of your ass, faggot, so you ain't got nothing to worry about."

Allen huffed, following the older boys into the restroom. "You absolutely butcher the English language, Kanda. Really. You're a disgrace."

"Just shut up and knock him out, brat. We can't do this if he's awake."

Lavi wailed, then everything went black.

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**You know, at first I didn't want to do this Challenge. Now it's too much fun. XD**

**And yes, they dyed Lavi's hair black. This is utter randomness, but strangely enough it's helping, so I'll keep up with these random little bits until I start working on Going Under again.**

**REVIEW, please. **


	4. Wine

**77. - Wine**

**By Mii-Chan 24**

**Disclaimer: Not mine.**

**Notes: Canon-ish… Special thanks to Cassie for the omake idea.**

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It hurt to go back into that room.

The furniture was dusty, posh upholstery faded and dirty. The glass cabinets had been emptied; trails of grime led to the edges, as if whoever had cleaned up had tossed everything out without a care.

The large bed was covered in a fine layer of powder, neatly made - the occupant in the room obviously hadn't had time to sleep.

Allen sighed, running a hand through his hair. He hated walking into Cross's room. It hurt to see, to _picture_ the absolute horror that happened… Was it really a year ago?

The room had been cleaned up thoroughly by Leverrier's CROW, but he still felt the need to poke around. Maybe Cross had left some clues… Something. Anything.

The windows had been repaired, and the bloodstains scrubbed out, but there was still a faint feel of _death_ in the air… Like Cross was still haunting the place.

The young man shuddered at the thought, walking to the window to let some air into the room. Timcanpy fluttered behind him, diving to the alcove beside the window. Though faint, there were still discolored spots in the fabric, evidence of that night's atrocities.

The golden ball nuzzled the dried blood sadly, making Allen turn away. Despite of the womanizing bastard's bad habits, he still felt a connection to the red-haired general. He cared for him. Grudgingly, but he still cared.

And it didn't help that their last moments together were heart-wrenching; the one time Cross actually showed some sort of human emotion besides the needs to eat, drink, and shag anything that moved. He actually behaved like a decent person.

Then he went and got killed. Allen refused to believe the proud man had killed himself. It just didn't make sense to him.

With an annoyed huff, the exorcist got to work, mumbling to himself. If he knew his Master, (and sadly, he did), then he wouldn't have left anything important out in the open. He was a sneaky little bastard, and he knew CROW would be poking their nose into matters that didn't concern them.

The only problem now was to figure out where the hell he'd hidden his things.

First he glanced under the bed, the most obvious place, in hopes of proving the "hiding-in-plain-sight" theory. Needless to say, it failed, but he did take a chance at tapping the floorboards just in case.

There was nothing but a rather irritated mouse, which Allen quickly left alone.

Next, he moved the cabinets, wincing at how heavy they were. He was strong, but it was ridiculous the amount of energy he was expending to nudge the glass monstrosities a few inches. By the time he had moved one enough, he was drenched in sweat, his coat, vest, and shirt tossed in a pile by the bed.

He found a small safe, (which he cracked rather easily), but found only cobwebs and the remains of what appeared to be a sandwich. That, or some sort of mutated moss/fungus thing.

Shuddering at the rank smell, he slammed the safe shut and manhandled the cabinet back to its rightful place.

Instead of moving the other cabinet, he proceeded to check behind paintings. Again, his search yielded nothing but cobwebs and a variety of spiders that seemed rather upset at his having disturbed their resting places.

Nursing a nasty bite on his neck, he glanced around, tapping the walls in a vague attempt to discover something. By the time he finished, his right hand was bruised, knuckles bright red.

Annoyed, he glanced around, trying to figure out where his master could have hidden anything.

"If I were a lying, conniving, womanizing bastard, where would I hide something important?" He mused, tapping his chin absently. He could always ask Lavi - he was awfully good at getting into someone else's mindset. He also had the sneaking suspicion that some part of Lavi's parentage could be traced back to Cross, but he wasn't quite ready to open that particular can of worms.

He shrugged, glancing at the short bookcase to his left. It had been set up messily, pages bent, books shoved in roughly. Absently, he wandered over, pulling them out slowly, fixing the pages with care. He wasn't fond of his Master's reading selection, but it felt wrong to know that those bastards from Central had _defiled_ his belongings.

He stacked the books beside him according to size, keeping the thickest books to his left. The thinner books, mostly cheap paperbacks bought on the street, were worn and yellowed with age, and the smell of stale cigarette smoke and alcohol permeated the pages.

He used to hate that smell. Whenever he passed by a bar, in any city he found himself in, he would retch at the scent, recalling vivid memories of abuse and harassment. He would curse Cross to the moon and back, praying for a long and painful death.

Now he found himself recalling the smell in a new light: he could remember a few times when Cross wasn't as much of an arsehole as he usually was.

There was one time, on Christmas, when he dragged him shopping. At the time, Allen hated it - people stared at his dirty clothes like he was something inferior and disgusting. Cross had pulled him into a rather fancy store, demanding that he be fitted for decent clothes. He'd claimed it was because he _hated_ dirty things, and that he needed to look presentable to be within five feet of him.

Allen had believed him, and had squirmed the entire time, flushing with shame when the tailor gaped at his arm. Cross had barked at the man to focus on his job, and glared openly when the man continued to stare.

He had held back tears until they left the store, and sniveled miserably while Cross ducked into another store. A few young ladies had taken pity on him and given him sweets, but he was still rather unhappy when his Master returned.

The man hardly spared a glance at the pathetic little boy, hauling him to the fanciest inn in town. Once in the room, Cross had taken possession of the one bed, and vaguely ordered the young boy to fetch him some wine.

That had been the beginning of Allen's torture. He'd sobbed himself to sleep that night, and woken up to an empty bed. Timcanpy was eating his hair, large wings nearly covering his face.

Finding Cross missing sent the little boy into a frenzy, and he panicked for an hour or so. He finally calmed down after Tim floated to a note on the dresser, next to a small box.

It wasn't much, but for Cross it had obviously taken him some effort. The paper was stained with ink spots and wrinkled in some places, as if the general had gripped the paper too tightly for some reason.

The end result had been two short lines that dove straight into the young child's heart:

_Merry Christmas, brat._

_- Cross_

Inside the box was a long red ribbon with a black stripe down the middle. Timcanpy inspected it curiously, biting the edges, but Allen swiftly yanked it away, tying it around his neck happily.

He thumbed the tie around his neck, smiling faintly. He'd stopped wearing his frayed ribbon after a while, but still kept the worn strip in a box in his room. It was silly, of course: it was just a ribbon. But it was the first gift his Master had given him.

He sniffled, clearing his throat absently, and reached for a large encyclopedia set. It seemed like most of them had gone undisturbed; there was a thick layer of dust on top of books L, P, and U.

Curiously, he began pulling out the books, stacking them carefully. When he reached book L, he found with some concern that the book wouldn't move. He tugged a bit harder, and still the book wouldn't budge.

He quickly removed the other books, staring at the three volumes that refused to move. He couldn't quite understand why, but it had to be some sort of clue.

"Lup?" He mumbled to himself, shaking his head. "No… are they initials…?"

He sounded the letters out slowly, a light bulb slowly turning on above his head. "_Pull_? Pull what?"

On a whim, he grabbed hold of two of the volumes, digging his heels back on the carpet. The wood gave, and with a yelp, he fell back, the false bottom of the bookcase knocking into his face. He hissed, rubbing his cheeks where the books connected, and peeked into the hole, finding nothing but a medium-sized box within.

He dragged it out, coughing at the sheer amount of dust bunnies spawning around the box, and dusted the side. He felt his eye twitch.

On the side, in large, bold letters, was the one word that Allen had come to hate over the years: DEBTS

Even in death, Cross Marian managed to stick him with his bills. That bastard.

Annoyed, he tugged the box open, waving away the dust balls at attempted to attack his face. Inside, small white receipts created a bulge at the center of the box. Most were nearly illegible, though Allen could more or less guess at the amounts.

He stacked the papers aside slowly, frowning as her realized the bulge had been created by something bigger. Once he cleared enough bills, he stared down at the glass bottle.

It was vintage wine, one of the more expensive ones Cross was particularly fond of, though why it was packed away with debts was beyond Allen. He turned the bottle around, frowning at the label and the seal still in place.

From what Cross had told him about wines, the older the better. This bottle was positively ancient, and yet Cross hadn't even opened it. Why?

He sat on the balcony absently, inspecting the bottle for some sort of tampering. Maybe it had been poisoned? Or maybe Cross had poisoned it for whoever found the box? He paled at the thought.

Timcanpy fluttered over, nuzzling his new master's head, and burped, tossing out two wine glasses onto the alcove. The young boy chuckled, watching as the ball flipped in the air, nudging the bottle.

Allen tapped the glass bottle warily. He didn't like wine much - he's seen its effects far too many times to find it enjoyable - but it seemed like a decent tribute to his master.

"One time won't hurt, right?" He muttered to the golem, uncorking the bottle easily. Instantly, the sweet smell of grapes blended with the sharpness of the alcohol invaded his senses. A soft breeze from the open window helped disperse the smell, and he slowly poured the drinks into the glasses.

He set one on the bloodstain, watching as Timcanpy curiously dipped a leg into the liquid. The other he took for himself, setting the bottle between the two. He raised the glass to Tim, then to the open window, and took a small sip.

It wasn't bad. It didn't burn his throat as much as he thought it would, and the aftertaste was rather nice. He leaned back against the frame, watching the sun set.

When he drained his glass, he picked up the box of debts, stretching. He considered leaving the wine behind, but he recalled that once opened, it lost taste or value or _something_. So he placed the bottle on top of his box and left the room quietly.

A soft breeze drifted into the room, stirring the contents of the forgotten wineglass. Timcanpy spun around happily, nudging the wine glass affectionately, and flew out the room.

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**OMAKE:**

"Has anyone seen Allen?"

Lavi glanced at Lenalee, shaking his head. He hadn't seen the bean sprout all day. Kanda smirked, leaning back. "Fuck no. And it's been great without him."

"Kanda, that's mean." Lenalee pouted at Kanda's _does-it-look-like-I-give-a-shit_ stare, then tugged him and Lavi up. "Please help me find him? _Please_?"

"Anything for you, Lena," Lavi murmured, yawning. Kanda huffed, but followed the petite Chinese girl down the hall. Lavi snickered, glancing around the relatively empty hall. Come to think of it, where _was_ the bean sprout?

Kanda frowned, arms crossed across his chest. "Hear that?"

"What?" Lenalee looked confused. Lavi held a finger up for silence, and all three fell still.

Faintly, he could make out words, but they weren't clear enough to make out. Down the hall, someone was having an incredibly loud conversation, apparently.

Lenalee wandered over slowly, blinking in surprise. "Oh my _God_…"

"What the fuck?" Kanda stared at the scene with mild interest, which, converted into normal human feelings, expressed absolute shock.

"Barbecue!" Timothy screamed as he skated down the hall, past the stunned figures and into the cafeteria. Emilia followed wearily. Then all was silent once more.

Because, much to their concern, they'd found Allen. Arguing with a vase.

"Y're jus' a fuckin' moron, y'know? You'se got like… like… _two_ neurons… and they're strictly fer rememberin' how t' breathe… and eat…."

He paused, swaying madly, gripping a half-empty wine bottle in his right hand. He jerked his hand up, attempting to drink some more alcohol, but his movements were so impaired he ended up missing his mouth entirely.

The wine splashed spectacularly across his jacket, dripping down slowly. Confused as to why he was suddenly sticky, the obviously drunk boy squirmed out of his coat, flinging it across the hall. It landed unceremoniously on top of a suit of armor.

However, the wine had seeped into his shirt too, so with an irritated sigh he ripped that off.

Lenalee blushed darkly, eyes wide. She wanted to turn away… She knew she _should_… but…

"Holy shit… The bean sprout's ripped."

And indeed he was. The scrawny boy had put on a hell of a lot of muscle over the two years he'd been at the Order. Lavi snickered, recording everything to memory. He was going to _torture_ the boy when he was sober.

The boy was swaying again, eyes unfocused, cheeks a rosy red. Kanda was tempted to just push him onto the floor, but he figured it wasn't a good idea.

"Bean sprout!" The drunk boy yelled, turning away from the vase to face the suit of armor. "Why th' fuck d'ya call me a fuckin' bean sprout, ya _wanker_? Yer like…"

Words failed the boy, and so he kicked the suit of armor. The suit of armor, having withstood so much abuse from the drunk boy, decided to fight back.

Lavi guffawed as the suit of armor fell on top of the boy, then laughed a little more at the indignant squawk it elicited from the squished exorcist. Lenalee giggled, covering her mouth, then turned away because Allen was still very much shirtless.

Kanda coughed, staring at the boy sprawled on the floor. And coughed.

And coughed some more.

It took Lavi a few minutes to realize that was Kanda's version of _laughter_.

He was devastated. All those years he'd known Kanda, he'd vowed to be the one to produce something akin to laughter in Kanda's cold, shriveled being.

And it'd taken Allen just one drunken episode to get the Japanese bastard to hack up a lung.

The surprise attack had not affected Allen's diaphragm, it seemed, so he continued to rant, squirming weakly under the large metal thing.

"_B'Kanda_!" The subject in question glanced down, still smirking widely. "Wh't the fuck 're _you_ doin' here, you twat?"

"Looking for your sorry ass."

Lavi snickered at Allen's irritated growl. "Yer _face!"_

Charming comeback, really.

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**I can't write anymore. I can't. The mental images are making me laugh too hard.**

**Thank you to all those who reviewed. I love you all. Review, please!**


	5. Wings

**36. - Wings**

**By Mii-Chan 24**

**Disclaimer: Not mine**

**Notes: Canon, Chapter 193 Spoilers, I guess**

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_I don't know what would have happened to me if I were alone…_

He gripped the rough, bumpy hilt nervously, the weight on his back finally making itself known. The room was hot - strange, they were always freezing whenever they'd visit their siblings - and the stench of blood was coating his throat.

"Al…ma…"

The stupid, cheeky boy grinned, smothered in blood and guts and gore belonging to _those _ people.

The CROW, who had probably enjoyed burning them up on purpose…

The Epsteins… Lenny hadn't been bad… Protected them sometimes, but Sirlins had never cared about their welfare…

Doctor Edgar… Hadn't he said he had a son? What had happened to him? Would he be alright, or had he been killed as well?

Twi Chan… Doctor Edgar's wife, or at least his baby's mother… She'd been strict, scary at times, but she cried for him. Over him. He remembered. She hurt him, them, but she cared…

"What did you do…?"

He hadn't meant to ask out loud, but the word slipped out of their own volition. Alma grinned. "Yu, I'm really glad you're safe! But…"

His blood ran cold. "Now I have to kill you."

He barely had time to dump Marie on the floor before Alma's slash reached him, slicing neatly through his right arm. The innocence thing dug into his palm as he clenched it tightly, the pain of severed nerves shooting up to his brain.

"You've synchronized too, Yu?" He nearly blacked out as he slammed into the thick wall, groaning in pain as blood spurted from his mouth. He bounced off the wall, landing in a heap beside one of the red-tinted holes where the other apostles still slept.

"Kid?" He raised his head slowly, eyesight blurry, blood leaking into his eyes. Alma was sauntering over slowly, his innocence - could it really be called that? - coated in blood.

"I was alone… I wondered why our friends didn't wake up…" He could picture the annoying little brat crouched beside a different hole each day, telling them about mayonnaise and whatever else he had discovered that day.

"I wondered if any would wake up at all.." Alma smiled sadly, genuinely hurt. "There's no way they'd wake up, huh? They wouldn't want to wake up if they could, right?"

His friend, his only friend, spilled tears over the broken bodies of the people who'd hurt them so much. Then he smiled, the goofball, going on about how he must have annoyed them to death anyways with his babbling and loud voice and whatnot.

The look in his eyes, though, was cold. He remembered, then… His memories, just like Yu remembered that woman, and the lotuses…

Alma bawled, the innocence thing ripping out of his body. "I can't stop it, Yu!"

He wailed and blubbered and plopped down on the ground, the grotesque things at his side poking through some of the bodies. "I couldn't stop it! Every time I tried, it healed back…"

He stumbled over, kneeling before the crying boy. He paled, though, as the extra appendages shot over his head, slamming Marie into a wall roughly.

The older man grunted weakly in surprise and fell still, his blood streaking the walls a bright red. "Alma…"

Tears pricked his eyes and the giant thing drove in through his chest, cracking his rib bones and puncturing his lungs. Alma sniffled, eyes wild. "You understand, right?"

He dove in his innocence deeper, nicking his heart and splitting his spine. "Let's die together, Yu… We have nothing to protect anymore…"

Images of the lady in white flashed in his eyes as Alma faded away, lotus petals falling into his outstretched arm.

_I'll wait for you forever…_

He gave a start, blood spurting out of his mouth, jerking away from the sobbing boy. He still gripped the feathered innocence in his uninjured arm, and swung it around in a desperate attempt to free himself from death's grip.

He ducked instinctively, bringing the sword around to grip it tightly, and looked up at his shocked friend, tears blurring his vision terribly. "I'm sorry, Alma…"

He growled through gritted teeth, slashing up across the other boy's chest. "I want to live, even if it means destroying you!"

He would never forget the stunned, hurt look frozen on his only friend's face, splattered with his own blood. It would haunt him for the rest of his days, and he'd burn in hell for it, he was sure, but he couldn't break his promise. He _wouldn't._

H watched as the thin body fell with a dry thump, almost anticlimactically, tears streaming freely down his cheeks. He couldn't move… He just wanted to curl up with his friends, never to stand up again.

He couldn't, though. He waited a full minute to see if he would stand, regenerate as he was expected to, but Alma was still, silent for once in his short life.

Something shifted in the rubble behind him, and he whipped around, wary of another attack. It was only Marie, though, bruised and bloodied but very much alive.

The young boy wiped his eyes on his sleeve, stumbling to the older man, scooping his arm up along the way. "Marie…"

"Kid?"

"Let's go… Its over now…"

He glanced at his innocence bitterly, gripping the hilt as it slowly shed feathers. He would keep it, train with it… He would do everything in his power to find that woman. He owed it to her… and to Alma.


	6. Crossroads

**70. Crossroads**

**By Mii-Chan 24**

**Disclaimer: DGM nor SPN belong to me**

**AU, loosely based of Supernatural "Crossroad Blues"**

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The crossroads.

An opportunity, perhaps. A gateway. A chance to step off the beaten path and plunge into the great unknown.

The tall man nibbled on the end of a cigarette filter, fiddling with the tin box in his hands.

He really shouldn't have trusted the word of a child - much less that of a child skulking around in a bar - but something about the little spiky-haired girl made him feel like listening to her.

She'd shown up at the bar, followed by a big, hulking beast-of-a-man, and promptly sat beside him, twirling in the spinning seat with a giggle.

Tyki had ignored her, staring down at his drink, mourning the loss of his last few dollars. He had a pack of playing cards, but he had never been particularly _good_ at hustling people, so they weren't much use.

Then the girl turned to him, beaming as if they were old friends. "Hi!"

"Hello," he returned quietly, tugging on a few wavy locks morosely. He needed the money… It wasn't just the hunger gnawing at his gut. He had to take something back to Eaze and the others. And if he didn't come up with his share again, things wouldn't end up well.

The girl smiled, undeterred, and poked his ribs. "Are you okay, mister~?"

He shrugged, glancing over, frowning at the big man standing by the door. He was just leaning against the wall, almost like he was waiting for the girl to finish up her business.

"Hey~ Mister! I can help you out, if you want~!" He shuddered at the sickeningly sweet tone the girl used, and decided to end his suffering by humoring her. It worked with Eaze.

"Help me with what, kid?" He muttered, downing his drink. The alcohol burned his throat and made his eyes water, but it was better than nothing.

The girl smirked. "I have a proposition for you."

"Is that so…?" The girl nodded, and Tyki could have sworn her eyes glowed gold for a second.

_Probably the light or something…_

That didn't stop the shudder that ran down his spine.

"Well? What do you say~?" He scratched his head, sliding his bottle-bottom glasses back up.

"Depends on what you're proposing…"

She smiled, jumping up quickly, clamping onto his arm like a vice. "Come with me!"

The big guy at the door stepped forward, but the girl waved him away, nearly dragging Tyki out the door. She didn't look it, but she was strong.

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Once outside, she released his arm, gigging to herself. "Alright~! You want money, right?"

He nodded slowly, frowning. Was he that drunk already? He only had a few glasses…

"And you want to help your friends, right?"

Again, a nod. As if the whole situation wasn't utterly creeptacular, the little brat had the gall to laugh. She twirled in a circle, arms spread wide.

"Tell me, _Tyki_~ Do you want to be good a poker~?"

He gulped, glancing warily at the big guy, who was positioned directly behind him in case he tried to run. "M-maybe… What's the catch…?"

"There's no _catch_!" The girl laughed, turning to face him. The moon was beginning to loom over the horizon, and the stray silver rays caught her tiny figure in all the wrong places: the shadows played over her face, turning into a nightmarish skull, and the oddly shaped spikes of her hair twisted into devilish horns.

Everything about the situation screamed danger, but for some reason, Tyki couldn't move. Surely he could outrun the big guy, and the little girl, yet his body refused to obey him. The girl smirked, walking over, eyes glinting a cold yellow.

"What's it gonna be, Tyki~? We can help you! Eaze and Momo and Clack - they'd have all the food and drink they can take! Eaze wouldn't have to go into the mines anymore… You could be a _hero_… If you agree to a tiny little condition."

His stomach dropped. Of course there was a condition.

But… He thought about the guys, waiting for him to come home. He doubted Momo and Clack had gotten much…They weren't much better than he was at poker. Eaze would be starving, but he wouldn't complain. He would just smile and cough…

He sighed, nodding. "Fine. I'll do it. What do you want?"

The bitch laughed teasingly, jumping out of his immediate range. "Nuh-uh~! You have to do things _properly_!"

So there he was, standing at the exact center of a crossroads, a few minutes from midnight, glaring up at the swollen moon.

He tossed the cigarette aside, unlit, and knelt down, feeling a cold breeze pick at his clothes.

'_This is ancient hoodoo; it'll work as long as you do _exactly_ as I say. Take a container, and fill it with these things in the right order. Then bury it at the exact center of a crossroads at midnight. You'll make your deal there.'_

He had almost backed out when he found out the ingredients for his great come-around included human bones, but the girl had shown him where to find what where, and eventually he found his way into a little secluded crossway.

He dug out a shallow hole, and flipped the lid to the tin box quietly. The last bit of the spell, or whatever the girl had called it, was placing a picture of himself in the box. That way they - _who was they?_ - would know who to go for.

He slipped the crumpled photograph in before he could second-guess himself, and dropped it all in the hole, covering it up quickly.

The breeze tugged his hair lightly, but other than that, nothing happened. No clap of thunder, or explosion of sulfur. Just… nothing.

With a sigh, he turned away, rubbing his eyes. He was wasting time. He could have scavenged something by then…

"Hello, Tyki."

He didn't recognize the voice _- and it's not like anyone could have snuck up on him -_, and with a gulp, he turned around.

The young woman was very beautiful, nothing like the spiky-haired brat. Her black hair was pulled back in a long ponytail, and the tailored suit she wore clung to her frame nicely. She had a pair of sunglasses on, and behind them, a pair of amber eyes looked him over curiously.

She wandered over slowly, smirking faintly. "Are you sure this is what you want?"

"I…huh…?" His tongue was stuck to the roof of his mouth, and he was having a hard time keeping his thoughts in order. What was he _doing_?

The woman smirked, slipping her sunglasses off slowly. "Last chance," she informed quietly, standing directly in front of him.

He stared blankly, and failed to react when she grabbed his face, kissing him hard.

It wasn't until after the kiss that his mouth decided to protest. "What the hell was _that_?"

She blinked, vaguely surprised, and slipped the glasses back on. "We sealed the contract, that's all."

It would have been his addled brain playing tricks on him, but he thought he saw purple smoke billowing out of the ground, right where he buried his little box of shame.

The moonlight cut through the smoke weakly, and within it, a large, round shadow loomed. The woman walked toward it, glancing back absently.

"See you in ten years, Tyki. Hope you aren't afraid of dogs."

He felt himself pale as chilling laughter filled the air, along with the sound of baying hounds.

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**A/N: Based of Supernatural Season 2's episode, "Crossroad Blues". The legend goes that people can make deals with demons at a crossroads. You can literally sell your soul, which is what Tyki does with Rhode, Skin, and Lulu, with a special appearance by the Earl~ /shot**

**The dogs thing: on the show, once a person's time was up, they were hunted down by hellhounds. They follow the people around, because once they have the scent, they won't ever stop tracking them down. So yay for that.**

**About time the Noah appeared. XD **

**Read and review, please.**


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